Soldier
by White Wolf Phoenix
Summary: (Moss Flower (Redwall 2)) As night falls over the fortress of Kotir, one particular soldier ponders his situation and his possible future. Please read and review. oneshot.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Redwall series. Any characters and places that are mentioned hereafter belong to the author of the series. I do own Bandit and Shortsnout.

Author's Notes: I just felt like doing a short character piece for this book. I have just finished reading it. I suppose I am still rather enamoured of it. If you could call it that. Fond is possibly a better word. Anyhoo, comments and criticisms are much appreciated and sought after.

The sun was low in the sky, bathing the treetops of Moss Flower in a muted red-orange light. At his allotted guard station on the east wall of the ramshackle fortress, known to all in the woodlands as Kotir, Bandit the ferret wiped a weary paw over his tired eyes. When night fell his shift would be over, and thank the maker that it was.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this. Barely any food, constantly in fear of being reprimanded by The Queen, meaning a good whipping and running laps of the yard. A few of his comrades had already dropped dead from exhaustion and malnutrition. Not that anyone in command ever really noticed. The only attention that their former Captain, Clud had shown was to order them to "clear the barracks and the parade ground of the useless junk laying around." Their Queen, Tsarmina, was even less concerned. She didn't even say a word. Not even when she stepped over the bodies of those who fell in her presence during parade.

Not to mention the dozens of fighters they lost every time they came in contact with the woodlanders. Bandit, being a ferret, was naturally held apart from the woodland creatures. Not only for being one of Kotir's soldiers, but because of his very species being mistrusted by others. Despite this, however, he almost wished he could be among the rebels. They seemed well-off despite their exile to the woodlands and their underground existence. They never looked hungry, always well fed and sleek furred.

Bandit scowled, looking down at his own dull, scraggly fur and his battered and smudged uniform. He tried to care for himself, to make himself presentable. But how was that to be achieved with bare rations and not a brush in sight. Any brushes, combs, clean cloth or the like were reserved for her high and mightiness, along with her captains; Ratflank and Brogg.

A snarl curled Bandit's lip as he thought about the two newly appointed 'Captains'. Brogg had risen to power simply because he had been close to Clud, the former Captain who was killed at the second battle at the river by that otter. Skit… skif… Whatever his name was. But at least that was understandable. Acceptable even, for as much as he didn't think a lot of the furry idiot.

But Ratflank…

How that slinking, slimy, treacherous little stoat had gotten into the Queen's good books was a mystery. And how he had deserved promotion was even harder to fathom. After all, he was a stoat. Everyone knew that stoats were the lowest of the low. They couldn't even have the decent nature to stay the same colour for the Maker's sake. Brown in summer, and white in winter. They were born for slinking around in the shadows, blending in with the woodland around them and taking what wasn't theirs.

Why, he'd even heard the smarmy stoat calling out insults at the Queen from the safety of the ranks of almost identical soldiers, making it impossible to pinpoint him. But Bandit knew, he knew it had been Ratflank. Then he had been made a Captain. If Tsarmina knew of it, she'd have him skinned alive and left out for that dratted eagle to eat whole.

Thinking of the huge bird of prey, Bandit scanned the horizon for any sign of him. Argula was unlikely to be out hunting this late, but you could never be too careful with that wiley old featherbag. The sky was clear apart from a few clouds that scudded along the skyline along with the brisk breeze that was starting up.

Great, that's all he needed. It looked like they were in for a cold night. He didn't relish the prospect of having to curl up under his threadbare blanket trying to keep warm. Never mind Just trying to keep hold of it. More than likely one of the others would try and steal it from him while he was asleep. It had happened many times before, resulting in some very nasty winter chills in past years. Ever since Verdauga, Tsarmina's father had taken ill, the female wild cat had let the maintenance of the troops and the barracks go to seed, only concerned with her own comfort.

Feeling his stomach gurgle with hunger, he opened up his ration pouch, finding inside a single crust of stale-looking bread. He sighed, picking out the meagre sustenance and nibbled on it half-heartedly. In the old days he would have turned up his snout at such a measly piece of food, but now it was far better than most of the slop they were given to eat. At least it was only stale, and not green with mould, or crawling with maggots. If he was honest with himself, he probably would have eaten it, even then. You couldn't afford to be choosey when you were a Kotir soldier. Hesitate and stick your nose up at any scraps, they would be gone in the blink of an eye, taken by someone else.

All in all he thought that Ashlig had had the right idea. Get gone while the getting was good. Only yesterday the pine martin had made a run for the hills, so to speak. Or at least as fast as he could with one wooden leg. Tsarmina was becoming dangerous in her insanity, and well he had known it. Perhaps that was the way to go, pack up his few belongings, steal what provisions he could and hit the road. He couldn't end up much worse off. At least he would be his own creature. No one to answer to but himself. That appealed to him, but the sensible part of his mind kept pointing out that he would be vulnerable, and he would have to travel far before he could find a creature who didn't know the name of Tsarmina, or Kotir.

For the moment he would bide his time. See what came of this little war that the wild cat was waging against the woodlanders. If there was any possibility that he could be killed, then that was when he would pull up stakes and make for a new home. Ever the opportunist, he was determined that whatever happened, however the cards fell, he would gain something from it. Even if all that turned out to be was his life and a pouch of rotting food.

Hunching into his battered armour against the chill, he watched as the last of the light bled from the sky. Sighing, he popped the last of his bread into his mouth and stood. He looked down from the wall, seeing Shortsnout, another ferret, and his replacement for the night watch coming over the courtyard.

Taking one last glance at the darkened sky, Bandit stepped down the stairs from the wall, shortsnout passing him with a brief nod. Planning his escape could wait for another day. Tonight he would curl up in his bunk and sleep, and tomorrow he would wake up and be the good little drone once again. But one day, one day he would be more than that. One day he would be free of this place and its taint of wickedness and misery, of its cold and damp. No more would he have to jump to the whims of weasels, or stoats, or damnable wild cats. He would be himself for himself, not just another grunt marching in the ranks to kill or pound the forest floor in parade,

whichever was the order of the day. Soon enough, he would be more than just a soldier.


End file.
